


check me off the ice

by writingonpostcards



Series: Tumblr Ficlets - Check, Please! [20]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Roughhousing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-18
Updated: 2018-02-18
Packaged: 2019-03-20 14:44:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13719900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingonpostcards/pseuds/writingonpostcards
Summary: Bitty gets too comfortable with Jack to do checking practice anymore. Jack missed playing around with Bitty, and starts manhandling him and pushing him around off the ice.





	check me off the ice

When Bittle laughs, Jack can feel the vibrations against his skin. He questions the validity of actually being able to feel the shakes through his hockey pads, but nevertheless, he does feel them, and they make him feel warm, and Jack maybe presses a little harder against Bittle to see if he can feel the laughter even more.

It’s why it’s such a shock when Bittle finishes laughing, sighs, and says, “Jack. We can’t do this anymore.”

Jack draws away from Bittle slowly, the warmth leaving his body as he does so. He frowns at Bittle where he leans back against the boards at Faber.

“Why?” he asks, noting how disappointed he feels.

“Because this is meant to be about helping me with my, you know, fear of checking.”

“It is. You were just laughing.”

“No, Jack. I mean,” Bittle shakes his head. “That’s my point. I’m too…comfortable with you now. I mean, you just rammed me into that board there and I didn’t even think to be scared for a moment. Because it’s you.”

“I still don’t…” Jack trails off hopelessly.

Bittle sighs and reaches up to take his helmet off. His hair flops over his forehead, sweat-damp and glistening in the morning light. It would make a good photo, Jack thinks to himself.

“Sorry, I’m not explaining this well.” Bittle pushes the hair back from his face and looks across the ice to the sun-rising outside the windows. Another good photo.

“You want to do checking practise with someone else?”

“Yeah. I do.”

“Alright,” Jack says, because it seems the right thing to say even though he wants to say something else, like ‘but I like doing this with you’.

Bittle sighs, relieved, and lays a hand on Jack’s arm. “Thanks, Jack.”

He skates away and Jack watches the space he left.

-

Two weeks since Bittle switches over to alternating checking practise with Ransom and Holster, Jack feels a disconcerting twitching under his skin in the mornings he wakes up early out of habit and realises he can’t go across to Bittle’s room to knock on the door and wake him up. He supposes he could, actually, but there’s no reason anymore and he… he misses it. It took him two weeks to get there but he misses Bittle.

Is strange to realise, because he still sees Bittle every day. At breakfast, and normally at dinner. Sometimes across the quad or by the lake between classes. Once at Annie’s after Bittle had finished a checking practise and Jack had finished a jog.

“Hey,” Bittle has greeted cheerfully, waving at Jack from his place in the queue.

“What are you doing here?” Jack had asked, joining Bittle in the line, grateful no-one was behind them so he didn’t have to push in.

“I guess I’m used to coming here after checking practices with you,” Bittle had said, and leaned in to nudge the side of his body against Jack’s.

Jack remembers shivering from the contact. Actually shivering as a rush of heat bloomed from his left side and spread, rapid-fire, all the way to the tips of the fingers on his other hand.

That was yesterday, and last night, Jack realised what he missed about Bittle was Bittle’s touch.

-

It’s a simple fix. Jack misses Bittle’s touch, so he just needs to touch Bittle.

He spends a few days watching how the rest of the guys interact with each-other, and with Bittle, trying to figure out what’s acceptable outside of the hockey rink.

He tries to slap Bittle one morning as he breezes past the kitchen in the morning on the way to the shower. Maybe he went to hard or something, or hit him on the wrong place—though he’d seen Ransom and Holster do the exact same move the day before—because as he steps out of the shower, Shitty steps through into his room to tell him he spooked Bittle, and not to do it again.

The boys hug each other a lot, but it doesn’t feel right to Jack to just start hugging Bittle when they’ve never done that before. What they have done before is checking practise—Jack hustling Bittle against the boards—so he decides to modify that.

The first time doesn’t go so well. He’s grateful that he and Bittle are alone when he tries, because Bittle gets spooked, yelps a little and drops the bottle of water he was holding when Jack faux-wrestles him against the kitchen bench as they’re chirping each other. It’s a sudden and massive mood shift. Jack can almost see the happiness that was in the room washed away by the splash of water out of Bittle’s bottle and over them both and the kitchen floor.

He apologises immediately, and forces himself to stay and mop up the water with Bittle even though he wants to run up to his room and shove his face into his pillow for a little bit.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he’d said to the floor, sure Bittle’s eyes must be on him.

“I wasn’t expecting it, is all,” Bittle had replied in a subdued sort of way that had Jack looking up to him.

Bittle’s eyes were indeed on him, almost puzzled in their expression.

“I thought you were used to me checking you,” Jack had blurted.

Bittle had nodded. “On the ice.”

“Should I… not do it again?”

Bittle hadn’t said anything, just shrugged.

-

Jack lasted three days before the itch came back. He and Bittle left their rooms at the same time on Friday morning and Jack smiled at him like an instinct, and waited for Bittle to smile back before saying, “Brace yourself,” and driving his torso against Bittle’s shoulder to push him against the wall. There was momentary shock on Bittle’s face before he blinked and his expression shifted and then he was laughing in a croaky, morning-voice sort of way. Like when he did it on the ice. There were no pads between them that morning and Jack was certain the vibrations shook their way between their two bodies, enough he felt the back of his neck tingle.

“Good morning,” he said, still pressed against Bittle.

“Goodness.” Bittle laughed again. “‘Morning, Jack.”

-

It became a bit of a habit afterwards. If they’re ever in the upstairs corridor together, Jack pushes Bittle against the wall. It’s not always with a warning, and it’s not always gentle. Bittle withholds pie from Jack one weekend brunch with all the team around, and when Jack complains, he lifts his shirt to reveal a purple-green bruise on his right side, and says, “You know why, mister.”

Jack gets a talking to from Lardo for that one.

Over the course of a month, he gets talked to about it a lot from almost everyone on the team.

“It’s making Bits uncomfortable.”

“You’ve gotta learn where the boundaries are.”

“Ease up a little, yeah.”

Thing is, Jack is certain they’ve got it all wrong. They don’t get to hear the soft chuckles, or feel the give in Bittle’s body when he pulls them roughly over the back of the couch, or know what Bittle’s laughs feels like as Jack crowds him back and forth, pressed against the kitchen bench as he tries to spin away from Jack to get the butter from the fridge for a pie.

The comments back off when Bittle starts rough-housing Jack back.

It’s a shock the first time, unexpected in every single way. Jack couldn’t read it in Bittle’s expression. They were having a regular conversation, Jack leaning against the back of the green couch while Lardo and Ransom where rearranging the items on the pin-board to make way for a new edition of the Swallow featuring pictures from the last kegster.

Bittle’s talking one second about their upcoming game, the next, he’s tackling Jack, forcing him over the back of the couch onto the cushion and grinding his shoulder down at the base of Jack’s neck. It’s inelegant, the way Jack coughs and splutters.

Lardo and Ransom go silent at the other end of the room.

“What was that for, eh?” Jack asks when Bittle eases off.

“Felt like it,” he says with a wicked grin, then gets up off the couch and leaves Jack flushed and flustered.

That night brings another realisation. Not as big a shock as realising he missed touching Bittle, because… well, because the first realisation was that he’d missed _touching_ Bittle. So realising he’s attracted to Bittle on a sexual level seems almost logical when Jack figures it out. That’s why he gets the hot flushes, why his neck tingles, why when Bittle had him pinned down on the couch the blood rushing around his body went down south.

Jack doesn’t change anything on his end after his realisation, not physically. Though on the inside, every time he gets his arms against Bittle’s torso to trap him in the corridor, or when Bittle’s hips press into his ass as he shoves Jack against the kitchen table, his mind goes into the gutter and he’s left breathless and randy and sometimes needing to retreat to his room so he can talk himself down.

It gets worse though. Not in a bad way, which is maybe stupid, but in a way that means Jack stops going from 0 to 10 when Bittle punches at his chest and arms as he chirps him, and starts going from 0 to 100. So, Jack goes back to his room, gets onto his bed, shoves his pillow on his face and tries to breathe deeply and focus on that only. Then Jack gives up within minutes, kicks his pants off, or drags them down to mid-thigh, or just shoves his hand past the hem so he can jerk himself off remembering the feel of Bittle’s body against his.

He wonders whether he should be feeling bad about it, but figures that’s a road he doesn’t want to take. So, he settles on the middle ground of not doing anything about it.

Some random mid-week day, Jack’s alone in the Haus doing something he’s not going to remember later, when Bittle comes home and upstairs and pokes his head into Jack’s room to tell him his class got cancelled and he’s making a celebratory pie and does Jack want to help, he’ll put maple syrup in it.

It’s a long trip to the kitchen. Jack traps Bittle hands against his front with a bear hug and rolls them down the wall of the corridor for a few steps, then Bittle jumps up onto Jack’s back at the bottom of the stairs and tries to steer him into the doorway. Jack flips Bittle off his back and straight onto the green couch, knowing Bittle hates it, so Bittle pulls Jack down to wrestle him underneath him between his body and the actual couch, which is when it happens.

Their hips line up and Jack gasps and his erection rubs up against Bittle’s own.

There is one moment—maybe four—when they just stare at each other. Their hips are still pressed together and there’s no escaping the fact that both of them are hard.

Bittle seems poised to ask about it, but Jack leans up and kisses him.

Bittle kisses back immediately, hard enough that Jack’s head is forced down down down until it’s against the hard arm-rest of the chair and his neck is uncomfortable but they’re still kissing and Jack’s entire body is alive and tingling and Bittle’s ass is beneath his hands and he doesn’t care.

Bittle grinds their hips together, and it’s purposeful now, and too hard to be all pleasure. Jack’s dick is uncomfortably trapped by his pants and he moves his own hands off Bittle’s ass to undo the button and unzip his jeans, then does the same for Bittle. It’s better, but not great. At least this way, Jack can feel how ridiculously hot Bittle is becoming.

Jack has to move his neck before it seizes up, taking the opportunity to kiss Bittle’s jaw, and his pulse-point and his collar bones and up behind his ear. Bittle moans and sighs while he does it, and somehow manages to confess his horror that they’re doing this on the green couch.

Jack takes them upstairs. Bittle’s wrapped around him and it’s so easy to just shove him against the door to shut it once they’re in Jack’s room. Bittle groans at that. Not in pain. The other thing. So Jack presses in hard, as hard as he can, until Bittle’s panting and saying his name.

Jack keeps him in place with his hips as he shoves Bittle’s top off him, a little rough, fingernails scratching at times up Bittle’s sides. Bittle returns the favour and then their torsos are skin to skin and Jack is on fire and sweating and loving the taste of Bittle’s lips as he kisses them and sucks on them.

“Bed, bed,” Bittle chants, bucking his hips into Jack.

Jack drops him down and Bittle shoves him so forcefully towards the bed that Jack actually stumbles, then trips over the shirts that have been thrown on the floor and they don’t even make it to the bed because Bittle laughs as he strips off the rest of his clothes, then Jack’s, then straddles him and grabs Jack’s hand in his and wraps it around the both of them and moves it.

Jack takes over and Bittle leans back in to kiss Jack, so messily that it might not even seem a kiss to an observer, but in the moment it feels great, and Jack can’t help but murmur Bittle’s name as he tightens his grip and speeds up. It’s rough without lube but it’s too far away, so he tries to make-do with the pre-come leaking from his dick before Bittle growls in frustration, takes Jack’s hand to his mouth and licks it thoroughly before putting it back onto their dicks and gripping so tight Jack sees the knuckles on his hand are white when he looks down to check.

Jack’s light-headed, drifting close to the edge of coming. Bittle is beautiful, thrusting shallowly into Jack’s hand with his own hands braced either side of Jack’s head. His eyes are shut, and lips bright red from the kissing and the biting. He’s stunning and Jack tells him so. Bittle’s eyes fly open and then they’re staring at each other, faces so close together, sharing air and heat and scent. Jack’s cresting the wave before he realises, lost in the depth of Bittle’s eyes, the heat of the room, the dam of months of feelings breaking.

“Close,” he whispers.

Bittle nods jerkily. “Faster. Please.”

Jack comes first. It’s painful for a second just before release and then it’s bliss like he hasn’t found in ages, and he comes all over his own chest, feeling it land in warm patches across his abdomen.

“Oh Jack,” Bittle says, maybe reverent, maybe awed. Either way it’s deep and rough and Bittle’s breath hitches afterwards and he drops his head into Jack’s neck and convulses and comes. His mess spreads between their stomachs, smearing over them both as Bittle keeps moving until he finished coming and then slumps bonelessly onto Jack.

Jack can feel when Bittle smiles against his neck, and minutes later, when he starts laughing softly, Jack can feel that too.

**Author's Note:**

> originally on [tumblr](http://17piesinseptember.tumblr.com/post/170468853746/okay-so-bmwiid-posted-a-few-headcanons-a-while-ago)
> 
> full prompt: Okay so bmwiid posted a few headcanons a while ago and one of them was that Bitty got too comfortable with jack to do checking practice with him anymore. other people had to do it but jack missed playing around with bitty, and jack starting manhandling him and pushing him around off the ice... it got Bitty blushy and hot but everyone else was like “wtf jack u asshole” bc it looked like Bitty was uncomfortable for the wrong reasons. so this could be angsty or smutty or both


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